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THE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ISSUE
Volume XVII
Indianapolis, Ind., April 18, 1921
Number 9
"Should Auld Acquaintance - - -'
Mr. R. Snell Cannon indulged in a thunderous sigh of relief.
"Well, that's done," he remarked in his usual
matter-of-fact way, as he pasted the dummy on
the one hundred and fiftieth issue.
He looked out into the murky darkness of
Michigan Street which was illuminated only
by occasional lights from the East Michigan
car line.
"They say that there is safety in numbers"
he reflected; "I wonder "
He yawned.
Mechanically and with abstract precision
developed from long and somewhat tedious
usage, R. Snell dropped the dummy into the
little wire basket, labelled, "For the printer,"
and then picked up the pile of manuscript that
was labelled, "Number one hundred and fifty-
one."
"I can't afford to be sentimental," he muttered. "One number is the same as any other
even if it is a sound number."
The old Guard House suddenly shook under
the force of several resounding blows.
"I'm not in," R. Snell cried, "Whoever it
is, I can't see you."
"Don't fib to us R. Snell," a voice cried: "We
know you too well."
With that the door swung open to admit as
motley an assemblage as R. Snell had ever seen.
They were Lilliputian in size and they represented all professions, businesses, trades and
vocations, that go to make up the versatile
world.
They were unquestionably strange folk—and
yet, R. Snell had a vague feeling that he had
seen them before. Somehow or other, they
were all familiar.
The leader, who seemed to be spokesman,
was a squatty stout fellow, wearing a brown
derby hat, a light tweed suit, shiny black shoes
and white spats.
' W^ell, what is it?" R. Snell asked ungraciously.
"So you don't choose to recognize your old
friends," he said. "You've grown so grand and
you're putting on so many airs lately that you
can't afford to forget the people who made you.
Here," he indicated the crowd behind him,
"don't you know who we are?"
The question was answered by a blank look
of perplexity.
"We are the characters that have figured in
your life since the day you were founded—one
hundred and fifty numbers ago. We are the
alumni of The Cannon, and we have come
back'~?oT_a~ reunion:'1"
"Very interesting, Mr.,- Ah - Mr- did I
catch your name?"
"Oh-I'm Mr. Tech Spirit, and I have been
here all these years. Surely you haven't forgotten an old standby, like me?"
"Of course I haven't, my dear Mr. Tech
Spirit." R.Snell was warming visibly. "And the
others?"
Mr. Tech Spirit proceeded to introduce his
companions and as he called out their well-remembered names, R. Snell saluted the staunch
friends of the older days.
He recognized Mr. Green Freshie, Mr. Tardy Slip,Mr. Mud,Mr. Know-it-all Sophomore,
Mr. Quiet Junior, Pat and Mike, the comical
Celts of the joke page,innumerable yell leaders,
former teachers, many costumed actors from
bygone plays, such as "The New Lady Ban-
tock," and "All of a Sudden Peggy," Mr.
Eagle-Eye Watchman, and Mr. Staid Senior.
They were all there, one and all, of the
characters who had made history at Tech in
bygone days.
"Doesn't it seem like the old days?"
R.Snell laughed. "How could I ever have
managed to forget you all?"
(Continued on page seven)

THE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ISSUE
Volume XVII
Indianapolis, Ind., April 18, 1921
Number 9
"Should Auld Acquaintance - - -'
Mr. R. Snell Cannon indulged in a thunderous sigh of relief.
"Well, that's done," he remarked in his usual
matter-of-fact way, as he pasted the dummy on
the one hundred and fiftieth issue.
He looked out into the murky darkness of
Michigan Street which was illuminated only
by occasional lights from the East Michigan
car line.
"They say that there is safety in numbers"
he reflected; "I wonder "
He yawned.
Mechanically and with abstract precision
developed from long and somewhat tedious
usage, R. Snell dropped the dummy into the
little wire basket, labelled, "For the printer,"
and then picked up the pile of manuscript that
was labelled, "Number one hundred and fifty-
one."
"I can't afford to be sentimental," he muttered. "One number is the same as any other
even if it is a sound number."
The old Guard House suddenly shook under
the force of several resounding blows.
"I'm not in," R. Snell cried, "Whoever it
is, I can't see you."
"Don't fib to us R. Snell," a voice cried: "We
know you too well."
With that the door swung open to admit as
motley an assemblage as R. Snell had ever seen.
They were Lilliputian in size and they represented all professions, businesses, trades and
vocations, that go to make up the versatile
world.
They were unquestionably strange folk—and
yet, R. Snell had a vague feeling that he had
seen them before. Somehow or other, they
were all familiar.
The leader, who seemed to be spokesman,
was a squatty stout fellow, wearing a brown
derby hat, a light tweed suit, shiny black shoes
and white spats.
' W^ell, what is it?" R. Snell asked ungraciously.
"So you don't choose to recognize your old
friends," he said. "You've grown so grand and
you're putting on so many airs lately that you
can't afford to forget the people who made you.
Here," he indicated the crowd behind him,
"don't you know who we are?"
The question was answered by a blank look
of perplexity.
"We are the characters that have figured in
your life since the day you were founded—one
hundred and fifty numbers ago. We are the
alumni of The Cannon, and we have come
back'~?oT_a~ reunion:'1"
"Very interesting, Mr.,- Ah - Mr- did I
catch your name?"
"Oh-I'm Mr. Tech Spirit, and I have been
here all these years. Surely you haven't forgotten an old standby, like me?"
"Of course I haven't, my dear Mr. Tech
Spirit." R.Snell was warming visibly. "And the
others?"
Mr. Tech Spirit proceeded to introduce his
companions and as he called out their well-remembered names, R. Snell saluted the staunch
friends of the older days.
He recognized Mr. Green Freshie, Mr. Tardy Slip,Mr. Mud,Mr. Know-it-all Sophomore,
Mr. Quiet Junior, Pat and Mike, the comical
Celts of the joke page,innumerable yell leaders,
former teachers, many costumed actors from
bygone plays, such as "The New Lady Ban-
tock," and "All of a Sudden Peggy," Mr.
Eagle-Eye Watchman, and Mr. Staid Senior.
They were all there, one and all, of the
characters who had made history at Tech in
bygone days.
"Doesn't it seem like the old days?"
R.Snell laughed. "How could I ever have
managed to forget you all?"
(Continued on page seven)